


Potential

by Marasa



Series: The New Trinity [3]
Category: American Gods (TV), American Gods - Neil Gaiman
Genre: Anger, Blood, Fighting, Frustration, Lemon scented you, Teeth, tense times yall, vr limo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-13 21:32:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16026371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marasa/pseuds/Marasa
Summary: Then Technical Boy stumbles out of the limo and whines to the children to actually do their jobs and keep him from further harm. It works out ‘cause they don’t have teeth anyway.If you have a prompt, send it my way





	Potential

Something happened.

A lot happened.

One second they almost had Shadow in the palm of their collective hand and the next, Wednesday was slamming his fist on the table and subsequently squashing their ambition.

At one point, they were making a really good point with a lot of great lines and then they were walking out of that room like they’d been defeated.

Through all that excitement and frustration, Technical Boy had two front teeth and then suddenly he didn’t.

It’s a little awkward in the limo. 

Mr. World is murmuring something to himself, deep in thought on the seat across from them. Media, still looking like Marilyn Monroe, sits to the boy’s left, hands in her lap and gaze routinely falling on the one next to her.

She knows it was a shitty thing to do but the brat was running his mouth. The only way to efficiently shut him up was to blow him a kiss of pure brutality.

Honestly, Media herself had been mildly shocked when she saw the rope of blood extend from his lips and whip to his right just as his two front teeth hit the table.

“Do not fucking touch me.”

Media stops her hand’s path to his shoulder. He’s not even looking in her direction. He’s turned toward the window, arms crossed, forehead close to the black glass. Still somehow he knows.

A god’s intuition.

Mr. World’s eyes flash upward. He looks between his fellow gods in ways of distracted questioning.

“What?” Media snaps.

“Before we left…” Mr. World begins, but stops, shifting his attention to the boy. “Where are your teeth?”

That’s it.

Technical Boy goes from defiantly distant to furiously engaged. He turns forward and stomps his feet on the floor. 

Media sighs.

“Where are my teeth!? Not in my fucking mouth!”

Blood from the sore holes in his gums continues to flow. Crimson spittle flies from the tip of his tongue flailing with a fury more suited to a war god than one of technology.

He’s made a mess of his lips and chin. Media extends her hand once more to wipe it for him but he physically flinches from her.

“There’s blood on your face-”

“Get off!”

Media huffs but relents. She turns back to World, expression showcasing just how fed up with this shitty night she is.

“You said his teeth were to be gifts to those two,” Media reminds him.

“That was figurative,” Mr. World says. “The gesture was a gift, not the teeth. I was counting on the boy to take them.”

“Perhaps next time you should explicitly say what you mean, then.”

Technical Boy growls low enough to draw their attention.

“Like there will be a ‘next time,’” he spits grossly. “I could crush you. The both of you. I could make you bleed as easily as you did me.” 

He points at Mr. World. 

“Business is nothing without technological connection.” 

He looks to Media. 

“Pop culture is nothing without ways of virtual conversation.”

Mr. World raises an eyebrow. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a fucking fact!”

He’s seething with the fire of a hundred volatile discussion board conversations.  Blood drips from his throbbing mouth down off his chin and onto his pants. It stains the white of his sweatshirt. 

As much as he might look intimidating, he looks absolutely frightened.

“We’re on the same fucking team!” Technical Boy yells, the last remnants of his resolve finally shattering. “I was trying to help you out! I was trying to help us all out! And you turn on me. You, you-”

He won’t say it but Media knows.

He means her, the one he’s closest to, the one he spends the most time with. Mr. World is rigid and impatient and misunderstanding but Media knows how he is.

A swell of guilt fills her chest. She refuses to wear it on her face or have it influence her tone. She remains cool and unaffected.

“Tough love,” Media says.

The boy smiles mirthlessly. It’s quite a sight now that it’s incomplete and painted red.

“That wasn’t love at all,” he murmurs, voice broken. “That was betrayal. Now I’m a toothless freak because of you.”

“Where are they?” Mr. World says again.

“Out of my holy head, fuck face!”

The man’s jaw tightens. He speaks harshly through building anger.

“What I mean is they’re not on you. They’re not in your pockets. They’re not on your person.”

Technical Boy stares at him, brow furrowed.

“If you don’t have them, then they took them,” Mr. World says. “Wednesday. Shadow.”

“So what? I’m not using them anymore anyway. Fuck them.”

“You fail to understand,” Mr. World growls. “As much as you refuse to behave like it, you are a god. And those teeth you lost are a god’s teeth. Your blood is a deity’s blood.”

Technical Boy had never been one for traditional, and frankly archaic, worship but hearing someone go on and on about how important and powerful he was definitely made him preen, never mind the situation.

Praise is the last thing on Mr. World’s mind.

“The power in those divine atoms could be used to fashion unbelievable wonder if only one knew how to do so. And now they’re in the hands of our enemies as potential weapons to be used against us.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Media says, cold sweat peppering her palms.

“You’re underestimating them.”

“They’re old and useless,” Technical Boy says. 

“You’re being stupid.”

“And you’re being annoying,” the boy snaps back. “Shut. Up.”

He takes his vape out of his pocket, places the mouthpiece to his lips and promptly flings it down on the seat beside him when he realizes the uselessness given that all he can currently taste is blood. 

“This is on you,” Technical Boy says as he looks out the black window. “I told you we had them. Whatever happens now is on the both of you.”

In time, the unknown will be known. Potential weapons, potential battles, potential enemies. 

For now, they wait in tense silence, blood dripping in tune with their increasing regret.

**Author's Note:**

> Then Technical Boy stumbles out of the limo and whines to the children to actually do their jobs and keep him from further harm. It works out ‘cause they don’t have teeth anyway. 
> 
> If you have a prompt, send it my way


End file.
